


Rewind

by fiveainley_ohmy



Series: Dare Not Speak Its Name [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Dancing, Drunkenness, John and Mary's Wedding, M/M, Sad Sherlock, The Lost Gay Bar Scene, The Stag Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: In the middle of his best man speech, Sherlock suddenly remembers a lost memory from the stag night.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [propergenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/propergenius/gifts), [Kantayra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/gifts).



> _"I remember that night, I just might regret that night for the rest of my days..." -Angelica Schuyler, Hamilton_

With a smile that felt painted on, Sherlock raised his champagne flute. "Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson." He heard John let out a quiet, exasperated sigh at the utterance of his despised middle name, and Mary snickered at him. "The two reasons why every single one of us is..."

Suddenly, Sherlock froze, as his vision was blurred over, being seized by his mind's eye. A memory, lost in the intoxicated haze of that infamous stag night, left to flutter about his mind palace, waiting to unearth itself at the most inopportune time - _now_.

* * *

"...Sherlock, this is a gay bar," John giggled, clearly buzzed already. His shoulders were more relaxed than usual, and his eyelids were soft and slightly hooded over his warm indigo eyes.

Sherlock looked around in surprise and spied two men in a corner, locked in what seemed to be a searing kiss. The more he took in of the establishment, the more same-sex couples he spotted. No one here seemed to be heterosexual. Oh. Oh, dear. Sherlock felt a blush rising to his already alcohol-fevered cheeks. Being in a setting like this, with John, could be potentially very Not Good. Maybe he should have collected more data...

"I'm - _hic_ \- so sorry, John," Sherlock apologized. How the hell was he this drunk already? He calculated their projected alcohol intake for the evening so meticulously...or at least he'd thought he had. "This was the only bar on this street. But if you're uncomfortable, we can leave-"

"No, no, i's fine," John said, blinking heavily and waving his hand. He blinked several times at Sherlock and smiled warmly. "We can stay."

Sherlock's blush intensified.

John excused himself to get their graduated cylinders filled, and Sherlock looked around again at all the patrons. They were so openly affectionate with their partners, so at ease, so free...Sherlock envied them.

"Here we are," said John, setting Sherlock's beer in front of him. He clinked his own against the side of it. "Cheers!" That smile again.

They sat there for some minutes, sipping their beers, idly shooting the breeze. Sherlock deduced some of the bar patrons for John. That "woman" was a closet trans man and was planning to tell his girlfriend about it tonight, afraid she'd break up with him if she knew. The barkeeper had been with the same man for twenty five years and they owned a bulldog. The man sitting at the bar with his boyfriend was unhappily married and seeing the other man behind his wife's back. John listened with rapt attention to all of it, his gaze hardly ever leaving Sherlock over the rim of his glass.

It was...strange. John didn't seem to feel out of place here. He acted as if this pub was one of his regular haunts, as if...he belonged here. Which was odd, because Sherlock actually _was_ gay and yet it was he who felt awkward.

Finally, John drained the last of his beer and set the cylinder on the table just a very whiny, 1990s-esque pop song came on. Sherlock vaguely remembered hearing it on the radio. It was that one with the girls asking each other what they wanted, what they really, really wanted, with the coy response being that they'd tell them what they wanted, what they really, really wanted. This dialogue repeated several times until the girl under interrogation finally confessed that she really, really, really wanted to "zigga-zig-ah". Whatever that meant. Load of rubbish. How disappointing.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt a hand grab his. "C'mon!" said John, grinning, tugging him toward the dancing (could that be considered dancing?) couples out on the floor. "Dance with me."

"What? No, John-"

"Ay, c'mon, I know you like to dance, please?" John asked.

Damn. He was batting his eyelashes. Sherlock could feel his resolve slipping. _He's getting married. He's not gay. Don't get involved, don't get involved-_

"I only ballroom dance, John!" Sherlock shouted over the din.

John took his other hand, and Sherlock felt the last of his will crumble. "You taught me your moves - now it's my turn to show you mine." He grinned wolfishly at him.

Oh fuck. _Fuck_.

John led him out into the middle of the purple, pink, and blue strobe lights. "It's just like _Magic Mike_ ," John explained, rolling his hips ever so slightly.

Sherlock flushed slightly at the implications of that simple little move. "What were you doing watching a movie about a bunch of male strippers, John?" Sherlock inquired.

Now it was John's turn to look embarrassed. "Er...I wasn't watching it, Mary was."

 _He's lying. Why is he lying?_ Sherlock wondered.

"Now come on, you try," said John.

"Um..." Sherlock stiffly thrust his pelvis a couple of times. "Oh John, this feels ridiculous!"

"Look, everyone else in here is doing it. No one is going to judge you." John smiled encouragingly.

Okay. Okay. He could do this. Sherlock shut his eyes and thought of that movie he'd loved so much as a teenager. The one where Patrick Swayze picks up the girl...mmm. Patrick Swayze... _focus, man!_

Sherlock recalled the warehouse scene where all the camp staff were dancing on each other and tried to sort of emulate that. Sherlock was glad he'd taken off his coat and jacket at the door, because his tight shirt and pants were constrictive enough already.

Loosening up his spine and let his hips roll easily, Sherlock finally got into the rhythm of the music (" _...if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends..._ "). "Ay, now you you're getting into it!" grinned John.

A small, shy smile turned up the corners of Sherlock's mouth, and he began moving with more confidence. "Woo! Get it, sexy!" called another bloke with a thick Welsh accent. Sherlock blushed profusely and turned to look if John had heard, but John was dancing affably with a friendly pair of lesbians. Sherlock blinked.

"Hello, gorgeous," said a male voice as Sherlock was spun around by his shoulder. A blonde man of moderate height pulled him close. "I'm Vic. Wanna dance with me, luv?" he asked.

"Uh..." Sherlock blinked rapidly. He was at a loss for words. "O-okay?"

Vic grinned and began rolling his hips into Sherlock's suggestively. _Oh_. John had not clarified that was part of it. But Sherlock found he didn't mind so much. In fact...a part of him kind of liked it.

Suddenly another man was coming up behind him, tall and ginger. "Who've we got here, Vicky?" asked Ginger, bumping Sherlock's arse teasingly.

"New meat," replied Vic, winking good-naturedly at Sherlock. "Not making you uncomfortable, are we, cheekbones?"

"No, not at all," said Sherlock, smiling bashfully. Vic and his friend both had their hands on his hips, his pelvis sandwiched between theirs. Sherlock, to some astonishment, realized that they were both semi hard in their respective tight jeans. Ginger was rubbing his bulge slightly up in Sherlock's arse and Vic was letting his rub against Sherlock's crotch. Heat sluggishly began to pool between Sherlock's thighs.

"Oh, baby," growled Ginger in Sherlock's ear. "Can we take you home? Me and my mate, we'd be glad to show you a good time." He dropped a light kiss on Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock sighed, his skin tingling. "John..."

Ginger chuckled. "Actually, my name's Gareth, but with an arse like this, you can call me anything you like."

"Oi, what the hell is this?!"

Sherlock snapped out of his semi-lusty haze to find John standing there, glaring at the three of them with smoke practically pouring out of his ears. "Who are these guys, Sherlock?!" John demanded.

"We're Sherlock's _new_ friends," said Vic, smirking.

"Sherlock, are these guys bothering you?" John growled.

"No, we're just having fun!" said Sherlock defensively.

"I think that's enough fun for one night," said John crankily, tugging Sherlock away from his dance partners and into himself.

Vic and Gareth glared at John. "Jesus, we weren't aware you had a possessive arsehole of a boyfriend!" spat Vic.

"He's not my-" "We're not-"

"Whatever," grunted Vic, pulling Gareth away by the hand, disappearing into the crowd.

Sherlock glared at John. "Why did you do that?! I was having fun!"

"Sherlock, I know you! You don't like other people! Those guys were just pushing themselves on you."

"Don't tell me my business!" Sherlock snapped at him, pushing his shoulder slightly. "I _liked_ dancing with them. I was trying to dance with you but then you abandoned me! So don't pretend to be my jealous boyfriend!"

John's eyes _ignited._ Ever so slightly, the corner of John's lips lifted into a grim little smile.

_Uh oh._

As the song changed to a much more heavy, intense song, John grabbed Sherlock by the belt loops of his trousers and ground his hips into Sherlock's. The consulting detective gasped. "So you want to dance with me, do you?" John growled.

"Yes," squeaked Sherlock.

John held Sherlock to him by a splayed hand on the small of his back, pressing their hips flush together. He artfully rolled his hips against him. Sherlock found himself moving with him, their bodies so close and in sync, they were practically one entity. Sherlock could feel the pounding of John's heart against his own chest, his breath hot against his neck, and Sherlock was quite lost. A blush crawled up his cheeks as he got quickly hard again.

_You let me violate you...you let me desecrate you..._

Sherlock knew that this was a very Not Good idea. But he couldn't let this opportunity. Only a few more days till John was forbidden from him forever. He had to make the most of it.

Arching his back sensually, Sherlock ground hard against John. A flame of pleasure shot up his spine as his clothed cock rubbed up against John's own burgeoning erection.

"Oh fuck," John whispered, closing his eyes. "Sherlock..."

_I wanna fuck you like an animal...my whole existence is flawed..._

The music thrummed on as they danced, their respective arousals rising. How could Sherlock be so close to coming in his pants from just a dance?

"John," whimpered Sherlock. "John, I-"

"Alright, you two," said a gruff voice as they were yanked apart by a bouncer. "It's getting a bit inappropriate now. You need to take this elsewhere."

The two of them were escorted out of the pub, and John got a fit of the giggles. "That...was ridiculous," he said, grinning ear to ear.

Sherlock's heart sank. So...it'd all been a joke to John?

Sherlock forced a laugh. "Yes. Hilarious." He laughed again. "Another pub then?"

"Nah," said John, waving his hand. "I've had enough for one night. Let's go home."

It wasn't until later that Sherlock realized John had called Baker Street "home".

* * *

Sherlock blinked, slowly coming out of his reverie. He realized there was a server bustling about his feet, cleaning up the broken glass and spilled champagne. The whole wedding party was staring at him, and Sherlock's ears burned.

"Sorry, I..." Sherlock coughed awkwardly.

"Another glass, sir?" the head waiter offered him.

"Thank you, yes," said Sherlock, taking the glass from him. "Thank you..."


End file.
